


Danse Macabre

by othersin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Cults, Death, Demonic Possession, F/F, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Archangels, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Inspired by Crimson Peak (2015), M/M, Occult, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/othersin/pseuds/othersin
Summary: Azira Fell was brought to her soon to be husbands household, Gabriel,  to live with her new family. She can't help but feel out of place though, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. She fears for her sanity when childhood specters return, birthed from a deep seeded trauma seem to rear up in the lead up to her wedding.Though she will soon learn that not all demons crawl up from hell, some are closer then she thinks...
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Michael/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Danse Macabre

* * *

“She is quite a wallflower still.” One of the Sisters tittered, knitting a pair of baby booties deftly without much thought, the woman knew the technique like the back of her hand – knit one, purl two. How many motherless or unwanted babes did she knit them for? How many did she create in this room, under the watchful gaze of angels in the stained-glass windows and the statue of Jesus looking to the heavens in captured agony on a neat and regularly dusted mantelpiece above the stone-built fireplace as well as a portrait of the Pope and of equal importance, the queen.

The Sister was idly watching the small girl in one of the pair of overly large chair with a large book in her lap in light of the large window overlooking the green grounds, the midday sun made the girls blond curls light up like a halo which covered the faint white scar on her temple, framing her rounded face as her grey blue eyes darted back and forth as she devoured a book she may very well have already read – the other children of Tadfield Orphanage had all but rushed out of the large brick building like it was on fire, quickly going into their groups and games happily but not this one, and the Sisters noticed.

“She is a lot better than when she first came here, Sister Joy” The other said, busy mending the holes that appeared with the children’s roughhousing by the fireplace in the common room, or the reading room as it housed the small collection that they have received by donation and from the church.

“Only coming out of her room by Brother Francis’s insistence and classes – like a little vixen curled up in her den.” Sister Joy uttered.

Perhaps one of the only rooms in the orphanage that rarely saw use from the other children, other children grew tired of the lessons and scriptures they were taught in class to fill their days. To the others it was just more lessons or learning that they cared not for – but it was far more than lessons these stories held, they held adventure and amazing places beyond the British shores.

“Such a mess, it was a few hours after the crash they found her – mother cradling her to protect her, poor girl was burnt, bloody and delirious.” Sister Joy continued, as though the child they were talking about was not in the room in with them, “Father was in pieces all around her…”

“Oh yes, I heard what happened…tragic really.” The other Sister answered back, in equally loud whispers. The girl in question froze, obviously hearing what the other older woman was muttering.

“I heard Mr Charles Dickens was a survivor as well – bless him, he tried to tend to the wounded.”

“He never fully recovered it is said, died quite soon after that.”

“Well, at least she is one of the more well-behaved children – not as lovely in appearance as the others, it is troublesome if she never gets adopted.” 

The girl held the book tightly.

“And her back will never heal fully…”

“Such a shame, for such a young girl.”

“At least her face wasn’t scarred, her back is easily covered up at least.”

Her eyes downcast, her began to water and lip began to wobble.

“Sister Joy, Sister Margaret.” A voice cut out from the nuns idle gossiping, restrained disappointment and anger dripping in that raised tone that the man would only use if he was trying to get the unruly boy’s attention if the rough-housing got too rough.

The effect of it caused the two women to jump in their seats a tad and stare at him a little wide-eyed.

“Brother Francis…” Sister Joy spluttered, and Sister Margaret flushed under her habit at being caught out.

“The mother superior is looking for the two of you”

“Oh -oh of course.” Both nuns nodded, and stilled their minor jobs to leave quickly – Brother Francis watched them leave, the speed they did kicked up their black robes down the long hallway.

“I swear those women…” Brother Francis huffed, stance softening when he took in the girl – the fatherly looking man with a large nose, slightly crooked teeth and an overbite walked in the room. He was assisted the Sisters in looking after the children that landed in their care as well as being quite a well-read friar that assisted in lessons – he was well-liked by the children for his gentle and patient nature.

He walked to the other well-worn and used chair of the reading room and sat down with a long drawn out sigh, as if he had been on his feet all day, the left chair was always empty because of the unspoken rule that it was Brother Francis’s chair in that room and many a time did the children sometimes catch the other having a nap in it – making sure to tap him awake before the Mother Superior found him.

“Now, don’t tell anyone I said this – but those two are a couple of old bats.” The man of the cloth whispered conspiratorially to the girl, bringing a reluctant snort of laughter from her.

A small sniffle was heard from the upset girl – she closed the book and wiped a tad furiously at her face in the long-sleeved grey jumper that was soon to be due to be replaced due to the young girls growing body. The thirteen-year-old was wearing the grey uniform, with black stockings and shoes that were expected to be polished each day at the start of the morning.

“Aziraphale…” Brother Francis began only for the other to say,

“It’s so silly that I’m like this, I mean…I know it’s true.” Aziraphale said softly with a sad bitter smile, stubborn tears forming, “I’m not like the others…I physically can’t be like the others.” She reached for her shoulder, wincing as though the movement pained her.

“It just takes time, my dear.”

“How much time?” The girl said, frustration and hurt lacing her words as she continued, “Brother Francis, why did god do this?”

“…God is ineffable.” Brother Francis continued, “I will not tell you the same thing the Sisters tell you, I too get a little upset with god, but I know things must happen for a reason, a plan– and perhaps you are part of that plan.” Brother Francis continued gently, “Everyone has a part to play in the big ineffable plan”

Aziraphale sniffled, in which the older gentleman pulled a hanky from his pocket to offer – Aziraphale took it but held the tartan patterned fabric.

“And I’m thankful to them every day, for allowing me to know you and your sweet smile and kind heart.” Brother Francis continued, “My dear, are you not happy to have met me?”

“Of course, you are my dearest friend. “Aziraphale said, brow furrowing.

“And are you not happy to see the carrots you planted growing?” The friar continued

“Well, the rabbits like eating them.” Aziraphale muttered a little under breath.

“Yes, are you happy knowing that those rabbits are having happy little families that are well fed?” Brother Francis continued.

“The kits are quite cute, aren’t they?” Aziraphale admitted softly, considering what the other was saying.

“Very fluffy indeed.” Brother Francis agreed, almost worth it to lose some of the vegetable crop to them.

“If you weren’t here, as you are – those things may not be and I believe the world would be sadder for it.” Brother Francis assured the girl. She flushed at the praise, tears and sad looks already ebbing away in the warmth of the midday sun.

“What are you reading?”

“Hamlet”

“Again?”

“I do so enjoy it.”

“I know you do, read me some – I left my glasses in my other robe.”

Aziraphale began to read where they had left off, the friar happily listening in the cozy room.

Aziraphale had finished the act she was reading out, Brother Francis had fallen asleep with a soft snore making the teen smile softly – she closed the book, with a wince she stood up and considered returning the book to the bookcase however she doubted the Sisters or Brother Francis would mind if she took it to her dorm to finish, she’ll return it tomorrow when she had finished and in need of another story to fill her days.

She chanced a glance out of the large window, the children were reluctantly returning into the building which meant it was imperative she returned to her room lest she got caught out by the others she had tried to avoid.

She exited the reading room while holding the book and made her way down the hallway, as soon as she reached the doorway that split into the separate wings, she was stopped by a group of boys there.

“So, that was where the cripple was hiding.” A voice snickered in the doorway; a young boy had returned with his gang of friends – one of them was hiding at the back looking uncomfortable but unwilling to speak against his friend and the other, the boys twin looked bored.

“Sandalphon, Metatron and Gabriel.” Aziraphale huffed, annoyed – the three boys were around the same age as her, but had been at the orphanage for longer. Sandalphon and Metatron mother had died from consumption – father remarried to a cruel woman whom did not care for another woman’s children, somehow convinced their father to give them up as with a new baby on the way.

Sandalphon held a lot of resentment about that, threatening sometimes under his breath that when he turns of age – he will find his infant half-sister and drown her. Aziraphale was so horrified, that she told Brother Francis who then in turn spoke to the twins after class – the boys didn’t particular care for Aziraphale telling on them on something they claimed was just a joke

It didn’t stop them from bullying the poor girl, tripping her, even getting one of the girls to take her shoes and bury them in the vegetable garden and even pulling her hair when they rushed through the halls near the girl.

The Sister’s only tutted at her complaints, offering excuses of ‘boys will be boys’ or even worse, ‘it’s because they fancy you.’ – the idea that Metatron or Sandalphon has a secret affection for her, disgusted Aziraphale greatly.

Brother Francis took the complaints seriously at least and was harsh on the boys, however, Aziraphale didn’t want to make it worse for Gabriel who was often lumped in with the twins – she didn’t know why he put up with it.

Gabriel was a follower, Aziraphale had no qualms with the boy besides him not defending himself or others to the abuse his friends regularly inflected on the younger and weaker members of the orphanage. He never spoke of what landed him in Tadfield orphanage, but the Sisters gossiped about every child that entered their care like mad and so everyone knew of the skeletons that lingered in the closet so to speak.

As the rumor goes, his mother had him out of wedlock, a woman of the night apparently. A client of hers got jealous and bludgeoned her to death, all before the eyes of the young boy – the police that attended the scene had found the boy in shock, the attacker had then killed himself in the horror of what he’s done as per report.

With no family members wishing to take in a ‘whore’s bastard’ he had found himself in Tadfield.

Gabriel just watched on while Sandalphon scowled at the blonde.

“Let me pass.” Aziraphale snapped, irate.

“Why should we?” Sandalphon said.

“Going to run off to Brother Francis and tell on us again?” Metatron taunted.

“You want to pass? Got to pay the toll to pass.” His twin grinned.

“I will do no such thing.” Aziraphale scoffed, moving forward.

Sandalphon leaped forward and snatched the book from her grasp – letting out a startled gasp she attempted to reach for it but the taller boy raised it above her head. Gabriel’s own brow creased at the pitiful display.

“Give that back!”

“Make me” Sandalphon darted off, up the stairs – followed by his brother leaving the reluctant Gabriel. Aziraphale glared at the bystander and followed the others, she didn’t know what they would do with the book and didn’t want it to be harmed – Gabriel grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Don’t” Gabriel said sharply, Aziraphale blinked at the arm for a moment, and at the boy. She crossly pulled her arm away and followed the other two, to save the book. Gabriel just looked apprehensive, making no move to follow however.

Aziraphale followed the boys, fearing they would throw the book in the fireplace – she saw them dart down in one of the wings that the kids weren’t supposed to go in and for a good reason. Tadfield orphanage or home for children was built in the same grounds as the Tadfield church and beyond the hill was the cemetery - this wing in question was often used as a place for expectant mothers, more so woman who did not have a husband or the like.

Woman entered pregnant, and left not – the healthy babies given up to the orphanage, sometimes the woman did not come walking out. Babies were the first to go from the orphanage, would be parents much rather a child without memories of death, abandonment and a known flight risk. It was a maternity ward though the nursery that made up part of it had been empty for a bit now – there was something eery about this wing of the orphanage, an uncomfortable chill always overcome the girl when she walked past it.

“This isn’t funny.” Aziraphale huffed, the boys seen in the distance – throwing the book in the open door way in the middle of the empty nursery, it slid against the hardwood floor as they darted away snickering.

“Of all the childish…” Aziraphale huffed, eyes widening at the sight of the broken spine of the book – stirring a memory she tried to forget, she rushed into the empty nursery to retrieve it but as she reached the book the door she had entered in had swung shut. The twins pushed the heavy door closed and more alarming, the distant click of the lock turning echoed in the room – locking the narrow room with empty cribs.

The narrow and length of the room reminded her of the long hallway of a train carriage – the empty and old cribs replaced the sleeper cabins, the sudden shortness of breath; like a heavy hand was pressing against her chest. The nursery had some windows at least, but the outside was getting darker with the approach of night– the air was musty and old.

Aziraphale did not like this room, she rushed to the door and hopelessly tried to shake the handle – the low snickering from the boys was heard just beyond the heavy door. The quickened breath was probably audible in her increasing panic, the shifting shadows writhed and became serpent like in her swimming vision.

She couldn’t scream, like the whole room was sucking out the very oxygen from her lungs – she found herself down to the floor, the sound of babies crying and the rattling of an oncoming train just got louder in her head.

But the noise suddenly stopped, replaced with a low hiss, in the darkness of the room was the odd shine of scales shifting in the fading light – blazing amber eyes stared at her from the depths. Aziraphale found her gaze rise higher though, trembling when she saw the pale woman floating above the floor – a locket lay against her chest.

She stared down at the frozen girl though the fringe of her long and unkempt hair and her nightgown was darkened with blood from the crotch down – the gown soaked and dripping onto the ground, puddle forming under the ghostly figure.

“Where is my baby…” She whispered.

Aziraphale didn’t answer – raising her hands to cover her eyes, only to have them grabbed roughly by an intangible and ice-cold grip. The woman’s face was right in the younger girl’s face, and demanded again,

“WHERE IS MY BABY!”

* * *

Gabriel had emerged with Brother Francis in tow, both Metatron and Sandalphon where pale like ghosts – laughter long since dying on their lips as they for once had an expression of deep concern for another living being once in their short lives.

All being drawn to the screams from that room, a room that should be empty.

A few wondering children were drawn to it as well, parting like the red sea when the imposing Mother Superior emerged.

“What is going on here?!”

“Metatron and Sandalphon locked Aziraphale in the nursery.” Gabriel spoke up, “I told them not to…that place…she hates that room.”

“And how did they know about that fact…” Brother Francis scowled at Gabriel, who looked ashamed but did not say.

The terrified screams suddenly stopping was enough to snap Brother Francis to roughly push or more so yank the twins away from the door, whom the Mother Superior caught the shoulders of, not before snatching the keys the boys had stole from one of the Sisters and open the door – had he not had the keys he would’ve forced the door open with his shoulder if need be.

The door opened with a click, and the small form of Aziraphale had collapsed on the floor – in a dead faint.

* * *

_Aziraphale lay on the warm lap of her mother in the train carriage, listening while her father read out loud his family in that cramped carriage while the woman idly stroked the blonde curls and was listening contently. Returning from a business trip that her father was invited to do, as a book restorer he had been called to many a place to restore the bindings or even re-bind some of the more ancient ones._

_“I don’t know why you enjoy it so much, my love.” Aziraphale’s father muttered as he finished the act, “It is a tragedy after all – I was always much more partial to the funny ones.”_

_“I don’t know, I just love that one – so exciting and full of intrigue.” The fond stroking stopped, “Besides our little Zira loves it too.”_

_“I just think you two just love me reading it to you.” The man pouted, though tone was light hearted._

_“Oh no, Zira, your father has found out our little secret…” Mary Fell whispered conspiratorially to the little girl with the mess of blond curls._

_“Again, read it again!” The little girl launched from the comfy human pillow that consisted of her mother’s legs and skirts, cheering for more._

_“Fine, I can’t say no to my little angel.” Thomas Fell laughed, opening the book back to the beginning, “Though it seems more fitting to read one of Mr Dickens’s – I saw him enter the first-class carriage.”_

_“Dear, you should see if you could meet him – perhaps see if he needs any of his books bound by the great Thomas Fell.” Mary hummed thoughtfully._

_“Oh, that would be a lark, but I would be content in showing his admiration for his work instead.” Thomas laughed a little at that, nervous and a little giddy at the chance of meeting Charles Dickens._

_Aziraphale attempted to listen avidly to her father, however the sensation of time slowing down and a gaze on her made her turn to the train cabins window facing the hall – a lanky man with dark glasses and fiery crimson hair watched her (or she felt he was watching her, hard to tell with those dark glasses) from the other cabin of the train, he was pale and had an odd air of sadness in that look. He seemed to notice the girl’s attention and he had lowered the blind of his own sleeper carriage, removing himself from sight._

_The odd man lost the girls attention due to an ear piecing screech of the train trying to stop – brakes squealing hopelessly as with a sudden jolt as the train bowed inward, Aziraphale’s mother and father, instinctively reached for her when the carriage went suddenly sideways off the track into the ravine._

_Aziraphale blacked out as her head hit the wall of the sleeper carriage – a sharp pain and just warm blackness behind her closed eyes, the sensation of arms wrapping around her like a large coiled snake when the derailment occurred was the last thing the girl recalled._

_The hours of Aziraphale coming to was met with pain and smoke from the burning engine that lay broken– the carriage they were in had de -railed into the ravine, work had been on the train tracks and the workers had not alerted the driver in time before about the missing track. The pain seared though her back and head throbbed made the girl whimper, trying to move – though an incredibly weight on her chest made it near impossible._

_The wide glossy eyes of her mother stared dully ahead on top of the girl, dull like a dead fish in the market – blood dripping from her mouth had already stained her daughters favourite dress, the warmth the woman held in her body was slowly ebbing away and neck twisted in a wrong way. Aziraphale attempted to look around, seeing her father stare at her with the same dead eyes stare back at her – however his body and other limbs had been severed from his body with the sheet of sharpened metal._

_Aziraphale could not recall screaming, but she must have – the staggering injured but still mobile and those who were lucky to be in the carriage that made it across the break had all come into her blurring vision, blurred with tears of anguish and pain._

_She must have kept screaming, with how they all rushed to her – in the distance the skinny man with no longer the dark glasses and red hair didn’t even look like he was even caught up in the crash watched on with his burning amber serpent eyes._

* * *

Aziraphale pressed her hands down the one nice casual outfit she owned, a gift that Brother Francis and a few of the nicer Sisters had put towards for the girls 16th birthday as well as a more formal gown – her bad eyesight she inherited from her father was made worse by her reading at night had been remedied by her only pair of glasses. A navy-blue skirt and a billowy white blouse were tucked into the high waist belt of the skirt and her once tumbling blond curls was pinned carefully in a braid and bun, her meager belongings (mostly books) was in a large canvas bag by her side as she waited for the carriage to take her to Soho.

She was not thin, quite a comely looking girl in her puberty – enjoying the apple pies when it was in season and when going to the market with Brother Francis, both of them indulging on the famous Cornish pasties the baker made and even the delightful fruit buns they baked daily. She was not like the other girls who became elegant swans and had everything given to her on a silver platter – rather she was just average, she did like how her curls looked loose and she did think her eyes were quite pretty when she didn’t have to squint to see however.

Just another face in the crowd, just like how she liked it.

Brother Francis fretted beside her as well, unwilling to see off the girl he had considered a friend or even a daughter with how long he knew her – though trial and tribulations.

“You could become a Nun; you could live in the convent?” Brother Francis offered, “I can pop over and have tea with you.”

“I thought you said Nuns were boring old bats?” Aziraphale muttered with a smile.

“That does sound like something I would say…” The older man hummed thoughtfully.

“Besides I like the scientific journals and Oscar Wilde a bit too much to be a good Nun – wouldn’t be able to indulge on the wine too much either.” Aziraphale chortled a little to herself.

“Well, I’ll just look the other way on those things…” Brother Francis hummed, “Or you could help at the orphanage?”

“…” Aziraphale grimaced, flashes of dripping blood and long black hair was pushed back harshly, “I better not, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know…you were able to describe the late Ms Sally to the letter – Mother Superior was as white as a sheet when you did.” Brother Francis continued gently, seeing the tenseness in the teens face.

Ah yes, the Mother Superior had called her a liar – till she mentioned the locket. The exact same locket that a mother to be had, but the baby had been still born and the mother died in the traumatic childbirth. The older nun was quick to bury the locket that she had kept from that time, turned out Sally was her niece – quite sad what happened.

Aziraphale’s peers had picked up on the change in the stern woman’s body language, the only redeeming outcome for this revisited trauma was that the children had decided to leave Aziraphale well alone.

She did not speak of the serpent she saw however.

“…” Aziraphale thought back to the specter that heralded that of what she considered a spirit in that room, a large coiling serpent that looked to be made from shadows itself and its underbelly ruby like burning embers.

“There have been cases of people seeing the deceased again, my dear girl, maybe the stress of the situation made you fall prey to such visions.” Brother Francis offered a solution – he took what the other said in her frenzied rambling as truth, the bible and even scientific minds had brought with its prophetic dreams or even visions.

“I suppose…” Aziraphale hummed.

“My girl, I wanted to give you this.” The man pulled out a necklace from his pocket, a silver small charm sat on a glittering chain. Not the usual cross that was given and worn, but the charm had been created to show the ‘seed of life’ – the seven rings represented the seven days of creation from God.

“You shouldn’t have…” Aziraphale said fondly, allowing the older man to place It on her neck.

“Just a little piece of mind, I know you have some strong feelings about god but I hope this will still be a source of comfort and guidance if you wish to wear it.” He placed it gently, like he did when the wild flowers were out and the children had made necklaces and crowns out of the blooms during the springtime.

Aziraphale smiled at that, the clasp locking in place as she raised a hand to the cool charm under her palm.

“Now, when you get to Soho – if you go to that address Ms Ashtoreth will be there to help you settle, there’s an old friend of mine that owns a bookshop that has advised that with his ailing health he needs assistance in managing the shop.” Brother Francis gave the sixteen-year-old a piece of paper with the address and directions and provided directions to the place in question.

“Brother Francis, you have a lady friend in Soho?” Aziraphale teased the other.

“No, I mean, she is a lady and a friend – but not that type of lady friend.” The man’s naturally ruddy cheeks got a little redder, making Aziraphale smirk.

“Of course.” Aziraphale coincided, but Brother Francis still had a flush from the previous conversation, they stood outside the orphanage’s gates waiting for the summoned carriage which had pulled up with a chestnut stallion pulling his master and carriage.

The stout man jumped down to grab her case of belongings to place it in – once it had been secured the carriage driver offered a hand for her to take to assist her into the carriage which she took to be polite, and settled in the carbon. The wooden door of the carriage closed with a click, the window open to allow her to wave goodbye to Brother Francis – however taking one last look at the imposing building, the pale woman that haunted Aziraphale’s dreams since that encounter in the narrow room had appeared in the window.

The icy milky white dead stare made Aziraphale grab her necklace, the bubbling anxiety still simmered but it seemed to calm with how tight she held the necklace– the specter turned her gaze away, shimmering away like dust in a beam of sunlight as the carriage pulled away.

* * *

Tbc?

yeah, this is crimson peak inspired and maybe I have been reading too much in the spiritual and occult beliefs that appeared in the 1800's. 


End file.
